Catch 22
by Mint-Chocolate-Leaves
Summary: After the murder of his prime minister, England is thrown into an investigation to discover who would want his boss dead, and why. However, what have letters, keys and old photos got to do with anything? And how can England trust anyone when everyone is a suspect? AU.
1. Chapter 1

Catch 22

**Part One**

England had a very busy schedule, so when his phone started ringing, he was in half the mind to leave it and continue with the masses of paperwork he had to pile through by Monday. The only reason he did answer the phone though, was because the ring tone was loud and distracting, and the sooner the sound stopped, the sooner he could finish up for the night.

"Hello, England speaking." He spoke formally down the phone, while mindlessly signing another form that would be overseen by his boss. The person on the other phone remained silent, and England had half the thought to hang up, but for some reason he didn't. Suddenly, the blonde felt a certain animosity that he'd only felt during his wars with other countries… The air felt colder than before.

"…Inglaterra…" the voice was one that England had hated hearing for centuries. For a very long time in fact, England had hated the nation with a passion. "…Lo siento…"

England didn't even have time to reply before the phone had hung up. Instead, he sat, staring angrily at his phone as he let out a hiss of, '_what do you mean Spain you wanker?!'_

It had all happened while he'd been yelling at the phone. The loud cracking noise that could only be described as firing gunpowder, a scream from someone in another room, and a searing pain in his chest.

"What the hell?" England gasped, jumping up to his feet as he sprinted in the direction of the gunshot. The pain in his chest spread to his head, causing England to sway on his feet despite his run. Had Spain launched an attack on England without a broadcast of war? If he had, why would he even call?

'What was going on?' England thought desperately in his haste to find the cause of the gunshot. England didn't even understand how a gun could find its way through all of the security in the building.

He stopped abruptly when he saw Spain step out of the prime minister's office. The brunette's expression was grim – pained even – and his right hand was gripped tightly around the firearm in his hand. Breathing in deeply, he turned to look at England, his eyes dull.

A growl echoed down the corridor from England's throat, and before Spain knew what was going on, England had punched the man in the nose. As Spain let out a pained cry, the Brit quickly disarmed him, throwing the gun away from either man.

"Lo siento Inglaterra!" Spain cried out, before switching to the language of his enemy. "But it was the only…"

Spain trailed off with a dazed look as England looked in the office he'd just come from. The prime minister was sprawled in his own blood, a bullet through his head. Having seen thousands of corpses in his life, England didn't feel like he would throw up, instead he just felt numb. This man was his boss - this man had three years left until re-elections...

Turning back to Spain, England was surprised to see the man hadn't made any effort to try and retrieve the gun, or even to get away from the other nation. Instead, he was leaning against the wall, with his face buried in his hand, mumbling apologies under his breath.

Plucking his phone out of his pocket, England bit down on his lip as he phoned one of his contacts. The contact answered on the second ring, and letting out a breath of relief, England quickly opened the conversation.

"Hey, Germany. It's England. Can you get and emergency meeting set for tomorrow for the G8?"

* * *

As it turned out, Germany could get an emergency meeting for the following day, though at England's later request, he also invited Prussia and China. Germany was obviously the first to arrive, with his brother in pursuit. Prussia was talking animatedly about something to his brother, but quickly stopped when he saw that Spain was in the room.

Leaving to talk to his friend, Prussia tried to coax Spain from the saddened mood he was in. Germany opened a conversation with England, keeping to basic small talk. Watching England sway on his feet, Germany suggested that the British nation sit down. So far, England had kept all broadcasts about his prime minister's murder out of the media, but it was only a matter of time before his country was panic ridden or preparing for war.

The next to enter the room was China, who walked in whilst talking animatedly to Russia. China was obviously talking about political issues with Russia, due to their land bordering each other. Sometimes England wondered how terrifying it was to have someone like _Russia _right on his doorstep.

Japan entered the room quietly, and after speaking briefly to England and China, he made his way over to Germany, the two former axis speaking in hushed tones. Had America been there, he'd have probably joked that they were planning world war three. England was surprised when France entered the room without flirting with him, instead sitting in a chair as if he knew himself what had happened.

Minutes passed slowly as England waited for the Italy brothers to arrive, as well as America. Prussia had grown bored of trying to brighten Spain's mood and had decided to sit next to Germany, the two brother's discussing politics and training schemes. England knew best to avoid interrupting the two brothers - they were more alike then they liked to believe and so hated having conversations deterred.

America was the next to walk in through the door, a small box of fast food in his hands as he started to eat. England glared, wanting to tell the younger nation that now wasn't the time to be late over food. He didn't though, instead deciding to settle down on scowling at the man instead.

Prussia and Germany finished their conversation rather quickly and so Prussia stood up to talk to someone who looked very much like America but wasn't. It took England around ten minutes to remember he was the other North American nation, Canada. Now why was sweet little Canada talking to someone like Prussia, England wondered.

And then, after what seemed like hours, the two Italy brothers walked into the room. Veneziano looked around the room with confusion in his eyes and his usual bubbly smile on his face. His brother however, had a frown on his face with what seemed like fear in his eyes. England recognised the emotion almost immediately, and almost immediately he tried to think of an answer to why the older Italy brother seemed so scared.

Upon noticing that the Italy brother's had entered the room, Spain looked up. Startled slightly, England turned to watch as the brunette let out a small sob at the sight of the two. Veneziano looked even more confused. Romano however turned his face away from Spain for a moment, reaching up to dry what England believed to be tears away from his cheeks.

"Roma...?" Spain asked, as the both Italies sat down on a chair. Romano turned to look at him, his eyes slightly blank, as he withdrew slightly from the voice. Noting this strange interaction between the two, England decided that he wouldn't waste any longer, instead diving straight into why he'd brought them all to the meeting.

"The reason I called you all to this meeting is because yesterday my boss was shot." Many of the nations looked slightly shocked at this, though from their expressions, England knew that they didn't understand how it concerned any of them. "And the culprit was Spain."

Everyone in the room turned to look at Spain who looked miserably at the floor. Everyone except from Romano, who couldn't even look at Spain. Spain looked back up from where he was sat, staring at Romano, as if his eyes alone could explain everything he wasn't saying.

"Toni..." Prussia started, the first of the nations to respond to what England had just told him. "Toni... he's not telling the truth is he? I mean... We all know you and Eyebrows hate each other... but you wouldn't just kill his prime minister would you?"

Spain tore his eyes away from Romano to look blankly at Prussia. "I did." The brunette stated miserably from where he was sat. His shoulders slumped over, and all of the nations could see the guilt apparent on his face. Prussia's eyes were disbelieving, and he too slumped back in his seat.

The whole room was silent, watching the usually bubbly and carefree nation of Spain for any signs of hostility. Finally, France made effort to ask the question that was on every other nations mind.

"Why?"

Spain looked over at France next, and every nation noticed the French nation tense at the look he'd seen in the Spanish mans eye. "I didn't have a choice." Spain mumbled, turning back to England with urgency in his eyes. "I didn't have a choice! Lo siento Inglaterra but I had no choice at all!"

England scowled in anger. From the corner of his eye, he could see that America and Germany seemed to be getting irritated by Spain as well. "Who made you do it then Spain?" England asked, feeling slightly empty now that he didn't have a prime minister for his nation. "Was it your boss?"

Spain shook his head. "No. Inglaterra you don't understand! Lo siento, but you just don't know what's going on - I had to for the well being of..." Spain's eyes clouded over slightly, his eyes focused on Romano as he grew slightly distant.

"Then explain for us!" England growled, his voice raising high into something slightly quieter than a yell. Spain jumped at the sudden sound, his eyes slightly fearful as he turned back to all of the nations in the conference room.

"I..." Spain stopped for a moment, taking in a deep breath before continuing, "I received these letters. They told me to... they told me to kill your prime minister England. I... ignored them at first, but then... then the threats came! Whoever wrote those letters knows how to kill nations, Inglaterra, and... and they said that they would kill Roma and I if I didn't!"

England's eyes widened slightly. One of the nations in the room gasped, but the British nation didn't distinguish who it was.

"You'd better not be lying." He started, walking nearer to Spain, "So show me the letters."

* * *

Additional Notes:

_Here's Part One of the suspected twelve/thirteen I'll be writing for Catch 22. A lot happens in this chapter (and hopefully each chapter will be nicely paced), so if you have any questions as to what's happened in this chapter, go ahead and ask me. I just really wanted to write something that would make you all think. If you manage to guess the culprit behind Spain killing England's boss, then I will write you a OneShot especially you (however, you'll have to write which pairing/character you want the fic to be about.)_

_Part Two should be written soon! Reviews are loved as much as Italy loves Pasta!_

_Until the next chapter,_

_Ciao, Mint~_


	2. Chapter 2

Catch 22

Part Two

Upon entering Spain's house, England noticed a few simple things. Firstly, the house itself seemed dusty, as if Spain hadn't been inside the house for weeks, or even months. Secondly, there were pieces of what England assumed to be a vase scattered across the room. Thirdly, and lastly, there were letters scattered across the coffee table in the lounge.

All of the nations who had been at the meeting before had boarded the first plane to Barcelona, where Spain vacated most frequently. However, upon seeing the house so dusty, England realised quickly that he was obviously looking into the house of someone who hadn't wanted to stay at home very much.

Spain didn't speak as he entered the house, but he did lead the group into the lounge, pointing at the letters with disdain. His eyes were cold, and his lips turned upward into a snarl. England was reminded of the Spain he had fought against back when they were both pirates, and in a split second, he realised he didn't like the man acting so angry. In recent years Spain had found no reason to be anything but happy. With his sudden irritation though, England felt slightly unnerved.

What was in those letters?

Nearly throwing himself across the floor and over to the coffee table, the British nation snatched up the letters. He caressed the pages as if they were the key to the overall plot to the death of his prime minister – which ultimately they were. His eyes skimmed across the writing in each letter, and as he read through each of the letters (there were seven in total), England found himself growing nauseous with every passing sentence.

Who had written these letters?

"What do they say mon cher?" France asked as he stepped nearer to England. The Brit was about to pass the letters over to the French nation, when Spain ordered him to read out the first and last letter date wise.

Sighing, England nodded, making no attempts to protest.

"They..." England sighed, shaking his head as he stared at the first letter, dropping the others on the table. Spain continued to stare at the letters with hostile eyes, and as he tensed up, England read out the letters.

As soon as he had finished reading the letters that Spain had instructed him to read, England felt his legs crumble beneath him. From beside him, America caught him by the waist, helping him as he moved over towards the sofa.

The sofa had a small layer of dust building up on the pillows. England let out a series of short coughs as small dust clouds from the disturbed dust, the particles catching in his throat.

"You..." The British nation tried to speak, but the air caught in his lungs along with more dust. He spluttered again for air.

England couldn't help but think about the ending of the letter. It was all written in proper Spanish as to deter Spain from learning which country the culprit was from. With a slight glare at the letters, England finally understood why Spain hadn't visited his home for so long.

Prussia was the first person to speak; His voice was broadcasted across the room with a serious undertone. "What does the final bit mean...?"

By the final part, England assumed that the Albino meant the final paragraph of the first letter. Though the final letter had been alarming, the ending of the final was nowhere near as worrying as the first.

I'll keep in touch with you soon Carriedo. I want Spain's hands bloodied with the English prime minister by the nineteenth. Or else you'll have bigger problems than just finance.

England shivered. The ending to this letter was terrifying in a sense that it left so many questions in his head. Looking up at Spain for some sort of answer, England recieved a blank look.

"Maybe he wants me to redeem myself for things that happened in the past?" Spain mumbled as he lowered himself to the floor. The Spaniard leaned back against the wall, running his hand through his hair as he let out a shaky breath.

"But that's the past!" America growled, scrunching his fists together as he straightened up. "That's all history now!"

Spain stared at the spectacled nation, not cowering away from the glare he recieved. "I don't know what it means! I just did what I had to do!"

From across the room, Veneziano and France paled at the scream. England looked away from Spain as he realised that the scream was full of raw emotions like misery and rage.

Romano sat down next to Spain, rubbing his arm in a comforting manner. When the British nation looked back at the two a few moments later, Romano was rubbing at his neck with a pained expression.

"Romano?" Veneziano asked after a few moments of watching his brother. The southern half of Italy looked up, staring at his brother with a confused expression on his face. Veneziano continued, "what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" Romano asked, his voice breathless as if his throat was dry from the dust that had been lifted from the sofa previously. England bit his tongue as he noticed the red scar on the Italian's neck. He drew in a breath as his eyes lit with sudden understanding. "Nothing's wrong Veneziano, don't be stupid."

England moved forwards from where he was sat on his seat. France turned at the sudden movement from the Brit, as well as the other nations. America moved closer to England, as if shielding him away from the other nations, but England paid the younger nation no notice.

He paid none of the nations any notice except Romano.

"How long?" He whispered, gritting his teeth together in an attempt to stay calm. The Brit noticed that the Italian paled, his eyes adopting a frightened expression.

"I-" Romano shook his head anxiously, traced the scar across his neck with his index finger. "I-"

Raising his voice, England stood shakily as he stared at Romano. America helped him stand - the death of his prime minister had weakened the Brit considerably. "HOW LONG!"

Romano's eyes widened, and tears welled in his eyes as he tried to back away out of the room. He let out a small whimper as Spain grabbed onto his arm, ruining any chances of escaping England's question.

All of the nations stared at Romano with confused, yet accusing expressions. England slowly walked forwards to the country, kneeling down in front of him. With his own index finger he traced the scar on Romano's neck.

"How long?" he repeated, looking up at Romano's face with a slightly calmer tone. "How long have you had that scar?"

* * *

Additional Notes:

_Part two is here! First off, I apologise for the massive delay in finishing this chapter, I just found myself working much more on my other stories rather than this. However, now that I have my new laptop (I am overjoyed!) I'll be able to work on things much more easily than just writing in a notepad or just my phone._

_Merry Christmas everyone! Anyways, the same as last time, if you guess who the culprit is, then I will write you a one-shot with a pairing of your choice. Thanks for the reviews/favs/follows from everyone! You're awesome!_

_I'll see you all in part three. Reviews are loved as much as Romano loves tomatoes (and Spain)._

_Ciao, Mint~_


End file.
